Deadly Dreams
by mage-luna
Summary: The greatest victory District Two would ever know...but Cato and Clove want to win for reasons other than that, reasons that the cameras could never see...


"We can go home."

The warm breath of the words tickled Cato's cheek, and soft hair brushed across his face. He opened his eyes to find Clove leaning over him. For one fleeting moment, he thought she was coming to finish him off. Instinctively, he lunged for his sword, only to have his arm pinned down. She grinned at him, the menacing grin he had seen flashed at many tributes-all of them dead now- before her silver knives made an appearance. He closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

It never came.

Cautiously, he opened one eye.

To his surprise, the grin on Clove's face had softened and widened. Clove was laughing at him. "Boy, you're overly cautious. Why would I kill you? We can both go home now."

Cato sat up, rubbing his wrist. "I know we can, but when I wake up in the crucial part of the Games to you holding me down, what else am I to think?"

"I've been thinking about it all night," Clove said, pulling some dried meat out of her pack and offering some to Cato. "I didn't want to wake you up, but now that it's your turn to keep watch…" She sat back on her heels. "We can go home."

"I know, I heard the announcement. Obviously made for Lover Boy and that…girl." He spat out the last word. "I can't wait until I run my sword through her."

"I have dibs on Lover Boy, then. Listening to his screams will be fun." Her tribute-killing grin had returned to her face. They sat there for a minute, imagining their kills.

Clove broke the silence after a moment. "It'll be so simple to finish this now. We have the "Star-Crossed Lovers"- Clove sneered as she said that- "And the boy from District Eleven." She paused, frowning. "Who are we missing? I'm sure I didn't mis-count."

"That girl from District Eight. I don't think anyone has seen her since the Games started."

"She'll have to show her face eventually. The Gamemakers will smoke her out. And we'll finish her off before she knows what hit her."

"And then, it will be just us."

"Just us," echoed Clove. "The greatest victory District Two has ever known."

Cato looked at her, studying her face. She had her face set for the Gamemakers and Sponsors, but he could see that it didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes were still soft as she gazed at him. He gave her an almost unperceivable wink, so she knew he was thinking the same thing as her. The "Star-Crossed Lovers" from District Twelve weren't the only ones in love. They were the only ones stupid enough to admit it to the public, put it out there, making themselves vulnerable.

The announcement had been more than he had ever hoped for. He had trained in his District alongside Clove, and come to love everything about her. Every year at reaping, he would wish she wouldn't be called. He had never even considered the possibility they would both go.

There was no agreement as to who would survive. In a situation like this, it didn't matter. It would come down to skills, as everyone expected. No signs of weakness. He had seen how his mentor, Brutus, had lived. Lonely and controlled. He and Clove had worked hard to keep up their charade.

"We could go home," Clove repeated. Her voice was softer now, not soft enough to give anything away, but soft enough to let him know that she was thinking the same thing he was.

"We WILL go home," he corrected her.

* * *

Cato had stopped feeling the Mutt's teeth sinking thorough his armor. The pain was so overbearing that his brain had managed to block it all out. He still screamed. The Gamemakers wanted a show, after all.

Besides. It was all over now. That was reason enough to scream.

Inch by inch, he pulled himself along the edge of the Cornucopia on bloodied stumps. He was sure that, if his nerves were working properly, every inch would be agony. His progress was slow, as he was pulled back by the Mutts feasting on his flesh. It was a wonder he was still conscious. Eventually he reached it. That spot of dirt, with just a little dried blood. Her blood.

He stopped pushing himself, and allowed the pain to finally catch up with his body. He didn't care now. He didn't care that he wasn't the Victor, or that he was dying. None of that mattered any more. He was there, lying in the spot where Clove had been killed. He sprawled out, imagining that she was there, taking him away from all of this. Her hands extended, wrapped around his.

"We're going home," he whispered, to her.

And then everything went black.


End file.
